


Feeling Gah

by paraboobizarre



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-25
Updated: 2007-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teeny weeny bit of angst, some sap and a reasonable amount of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Gah

“What’s wrong with Bill lately?” Georg slumped down next to Tom, giving him that pointed, ‘he’s your brother, you should know the answer to this’-look. Tom sighed deeply. He hated this look and the way everybody always assumed he knew his brother inside out, that he could somehow miraculously fathom his little brother’s spectacular mood swings, that never seemed to be motivated by anything in particular. Bill could be painfully hyper one moment, near comatose the next. Tom, just like everybody else, yet had to work out a pattern behind all of this. However, he also knew that Bill retreating from everyone and everything around him for a couple of days, did not necessarily mean anything was _wrong_ with him. What no one ever seemed to get was that even someone as dependent on other people’s company as Bill needed some time alone to himself every once in a while.

  


An elbow was rammed into his side. “Well?” Georg popped open a bottle of soda, repeating the look from before, adding a little eye brow wriggle that would probably translate to ‘you should go talk to him and find out what’s bothering him’. The subtext, of course, being that Georg was terribly uncomfortable with being on the same bus as brooding Bill. The same was true for David. 

  


Tom smiled to himself, recalling the little dilemmas a down-trodden Bill usually brought Dave into. Normal times Dave would be pal-like with them, joking around, every bit as childish as any of the boys. He seemed somehow uncomfortable with being the ostensible authority figure. Instead, he had chosen to transfer this particular role to Saki; and the security guard’s commanding air and general lack of any facial muscle movement only complimented this assigned role.

  


When Bill was retreating into his shell, David was forced to play motivator, knowing full well that any of his usual jokes would only earn him a dispirited growl and a curtain that was being pulled shut in his face. Tom always had a blast watching their manager dance around from one foot to the other, as if he stood on hot coals, trying to somehow coax Bill into going along. Deep down, Tom knew his brother would never ever do anything to jeopardize the band. Bill would eventually crawl out of his bunk again, put on a smile and do what he was supposed to do. It was only sometimes that he needed to be persuaded. Bill needed a little babying and pampering from time to time. If Bill thought David (or whoever else had been assigned the unfortunate job of the motivator) had put enough effort into it, he would instantly be satisfied and things could go back to normal. 

  


Tom looked around the bus. David had gone off to some production meeting, probably already sensing that Bill would go sulky again today. The weather was ideal for the occasion too. It had rained _incessantly_ the last couple of days. The sky was a dull grey and the temperature had dropped so fast, the heaters on the bus had troubles keeping up. It was kind of chilly, one overhead window that got stuck last week and could not be closed for now, only adding to their discomfort. 

  


Georg wrapped himself in a fleece blanket and fidgeted around with his MP3 player, only pausing once to nod in the direction of Bill’s bunk bed. A single foot, unsocked and bare, dangled over the edge of the overhead compartment and even from where he sat, Tom could discern the bloodless and icy pallor of the skin.

Sighing deeply, he heaved himself out of the comfortable seat, trudging down the aisle of the swaying bus to his brother’s bed. 

  


Tom hesitated as he stood in front of the bunk. Over the monotonous humming of the engine, he thought he could hear the soft whispering of voices issuing from his brother’s earphones, but he might have just imagined that after all. The foot jiggled and swayed with the movements of the vehicle, but nothing seemed to stir in the bunk. Tom stared at the closed curtain. Maybe Bill was asleep. 

  


Tentatively he closed his hand around his brother’s foot, his fingers wrapping over the icy toes, feeling a definite flinching at the touch before the toes wriggled against his palm; a soft pressure against his hand as Bill stretched his leg, the cold skin molding against Tom’s warm palm.

  


Something rustled and stirred in the bunk, before a hand appeared from behind the curtain, aimlessly groping at thin air, till it connected with Tom’s shoulder.

“Get in.” The voice was so soft and small Tom was not even sure he had heard right until a light tugging on his sleeve confirmed his suspicion. Toeing off his sneakers he pulled himself up into the bunk. It was dark, the little shut on the window facing the street pulled down almost all the way. In the greyish half-light permeating the cramped space he could see Bill huddled against the wall of the bunk, squinting at him through bleary, sleepy eyes, the cords of his earphones in a tangled mess around his neck, the oblong black shape of his iPod vanishing somewhere in the mussed sheets.

  


Bill patted the empty space next to him, a weary smile flickering across his face. He ticked off the MP3 Player, the cold blue light issuing form the display making his face seem haggard and somehow caved in, before the ghastly glow died down and the bunk was, once again, almost pitch black.

  


Tom could not help but shiver a little when he settled on the cold sheets. Only now he felt a distinctive draft breezing into the bunk; despite the closed curtain, the cold, wet air from the defective hatch wormed its way directly into Bill’s bunk. Blinking in surprise he saw that his brother wore nothing but jeans and a short-sleeved tee-shirt; the blankets were kicked down to the foot of the bunk, the sheet was cold as if someone had refrigerated the entire bunk. 

  


Tom pulled his over-sized hoodie closer around himself, giving his twin a concerned look.

“Do you want to get sick?” He asked, brushing a flat palm over Bill’s arm, feeling the goose bumps racing along in the wake of the touch, the little hairs on his brother’s arm standing up. “It’s fucking freezing in here,” he said, feeling slightly foolish for stating the obvious. 

  


“The hatch.” Bill replied in a tone of voice that was an eerie reflection of the acceptance of the inevitable.

“Still no reason for you to freeze to death in here,” Tom puffed out, while he wrestled with the abandoned blankets at the foot of the bed. He stopped suddenly when he felt Bill scoot over, his twin’s entire form molding itself against him, filling up the negative space generated by Tom’s own body. Their movements stilled and both lay quite for long moments, with Tom wondering whether he liked having Bill this close or not. It certainly did not feel wrong, not per se. It was just that…Tom’s forehead creased up as he stared down on Bill’s sloping shoulder against his chest. 

  


Bill turned his head, briefly looking up at his brother, before he looked down at their feet where Tom still gripped the edge of the blanket. 

“I’m cold.” He simply declared, his hand reaching down to the blanket. Tom let go off the sheets even before Bill’s hand touched his, a strange feeling of hysteria lapping over him, as if he expected the touch to scald his skin. He felt foolish for it, but still he could not quite master the uneasy feeling their position generated.

  


Hesitantly Bill pulled the blankets up, covering them both; Tom propped up his head on his elbow and continued to stare down at his brother laying in front of him, obviously content with the way things were right now. 

“Georg’s been wondering what’s wrong with you,” Tom finally said, intent on breaking the heavy silence in the bunk. The answer took a few moments.

  


“I’m just feeling a little…umm, gah,” Bill replied and Tom could feel him shrugging his shoulder on the last word.

“What does _gah_ feel like?” Tom asked, prodding his brother’s shoulder before he untangled his hand from beneath the blankets. He felt strangely tender towards his twin; he could not really fathom why or where this feeling came from; maybe from the way Bill lay huddled against him. He had always been a little protective of Bill, it just came with the territory, but this feeling was different somehow. It was strange and confusing, alarming to a certain extend but Tom just could not help himself. His hand reached up to the frizzy mass of black hair in front of him, smoothing it down, his fingers slipping through some of the smoother strands. An odd purring sound issued from underneath the blankets in front of him, Bill wriggling closer against him moments later.

“Gah feels kind of lonely and cold and tired,” Bill offered in way of an explanation. “Gah doesn’t feel good.” 

  


It was not often that Bill opened up at first try, so Tom decided to play along with the gah-thing a little longer.

“Where did gah come from?” He watched a fat rain drop crawl down the small slit of the window pane, waiting patiently for an answer.

“I don’t really know.” A deep sigh. “I guess gah is always there and sometimes it decides to show up.” 

“Gah thrives when the weather is this bad, right?” Tom asked, his voice laced with a light chuckle. He was relieved to feel the light tremor running through his twin’s body as he chocked down a chuckle of his own.

“It does.” The last world tumbled into yet another silence that felt infinitely more comfortable and relaxed than the previous one.

  


“Did I wake you up just before?” Tom asked, marvelling at the sudden softness of his own voice.

“No,” the sheets rustled and tensed around them as Bill stretched lazily under the covers. It had gotten considerably warmer, hot even but Bill was still cold. Tom could feel his twin’s icy toes rubbing against his socked feet and a light shiver crept up his spine.

  


“I’ve been listening to an audio book. Just kind of dozing.” The tone was strangely monotone, reserved, the end of the sentence seemingly dangling somewhere in mid-air between them.

“An audio book?” Tom sounded incredulous, his eyebrow’s arching in interrogation. It was pretty much unlike his brother to willingly digest anything literary.

“Anaïs Nin.” The iPod was produced out of nowhere and wiggled in front of Tom’s face.

“It’s pretty good, too,” Bill added, starting to untangle the chords. The name, however, meant nothing to Tom; it did not even seem vaguely familiar. “Want to…check it out?” One earphone was offered to him and Tom took it, plugging it into his free ear while he settled comfortably on one of Bill’s many pillows. He was beginning to feel drowsy, the steady humming of the motor, the darkness of the bunk and the heavy warmth underneath the blankets making him sleepier than he should be this early in the afternoon. On the other hand, they had nothing on their to-do list for today and would only check into their hotel once they finally arrived wherever it was they were headed, so he could as well fall asleep in here right now, listening to some inane audio book. What harm would it do?

  


The faintest humming whispered through the earphone and then a woman’s voice, rather deep and husky but with a melodious quality to it began narrating something that was announced as _Delta of Venus_. The title made Tom blink into the mop of unruly hair in front of him. What did his little brother listen to?

Much to his disappointment, as much as to his relief the story was tame enough. It was about some chick in New York that modelled for painters and sculptors and the likes. After a couple of minutes he only listened to it with half a mind anymore, while the narrator droned on about the model and her friends and the clubs they met in, discussing art and posing and…basically it was a boring.

  


Tom closed his eyes and felt his head getting heavier on the pillow with each passing moment. Sleep seemed to take over, his attention shifting in and out, loosing the sense of some of the more elaborate sentences. Bill stirring next to him jerked him out of his hazy state; a cold hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling his arm forward, draping it over his brother’s waist. Over the soft whispering of the voice in his earplug he thought he could hear Bill sigh in contentment, his twin’s still somewhat cold arm slipping under his own as it lay limply, draped over Bill’s waist. 

  


Only now Tom realized his heart was beating faster than it had before. A lot faster. His palm felt sweaty, too. Bill didn’t seem to mind; gazing down on his brother’s face, half-hidden by his hair, Tom could see the shadow of a smile on Bill’s face, as he lay there with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, his back shifting against Tom’s chest with deep and rhythmic breaths.

  


A load of strange sensations swapped over Tom, even as he lay and felt his heart regaining a slow and even pace again, he could still sense that nervous energy tingling through him; had he not been so comfortable, laying in the warm darkness, he would have liked to run away, put as much distance between himself and his brother as possible. Part of him really wanted to, another part scolded him for even thinking that way. How could anyone be so paranoid about a little physical contact?

_   
_

_ Then he kissed me. His tongue went around mine, around and around, and then it stopped to touch the tip only. As he kissed me he slowly lifted… _

_ _

Tom’s ears perked up at the sentences. He shifted uneasily next to Bill, craning his neck to get a glimpse of his brother’s face.

“What…” He croaked but hushed when he saw Bill’s index finger on his lips, heard the harsh _shush_ and the whispered command of ‘just listen!’.

  


Defeated Tom lay back down, trying to calm his heart that was hammering against his chest again as if he had just run a mile; he listened to the husky murmur that wound its way into his ear, all his attention suddenly focused on the story. A familiar tingle started down south soon enough and Tom felt his ears heat up in response. It was just a story and hardly that explicit too, for God’s sake, it shouldn’t be that arousing, he thought, silently cursing his body for deserting him like that. Still he found himself being sucked into the narrative, with the whole world fading away outside of the curtains to Bill’s bunk.

_   
_

_ I stood on the model’s stand, and he was caressing my legs now, as if he were modeling me out of clay. He kissed my feet, he ran his hands up my legs again and again, and around my ass. He leaned against my legs and… _

Tom flinched as Bill’s hand brushed up against his own, the fingertips running up the length of his arm and back down again. He meant to say something, had actually half a mind to pull away but somehow, magically, he remained where he was, as if he had been petrified, the blood rushing through his own head so loud he thought everyone within a mile could hear it as well.

  


Suddenly he felt warm, smooth skin against the palm of his hand, felt Bill’s arm working to push the tee-shirt out of the way, until finally his brother’s fingers threaded between his, pressing both their hands against his stomach.

Tom stuttered out the breath it seemed he had held for an eternity. Under his sweaty palm he could feel Bill’s belly rise and fall, more rapidly now, in time with his breathing. Curiosity taking over, he curled his fingers, the blunt fingernails trailing over the heated skin, Bill squirming slightly in response to the touch. 

Bill’s finger’s flexed over his own, pushing up and forcing Tom’s hand to slide up his stomach to his chest, up under the tee-shirt.

_   
_

_ I shivered a little. His hands were smooth and supple. He touched me as he touched the statuette, so caressingly… _

The words were fading in out of Tom’s mind, only parts of it making it through to his brain that was drowning in sensory overload. His calloused fingertip brushed over baby soft skin and his twin’s chest arched up into the touch. The grip on his hand tightened, rubbing his fingertips in small circles over the spot. Tom chocked on a breath, feeling the nipple harden under his ministrations, hearing Bill gasp even over the incessant murmur of the narrator’s voice. Tom felt his hard-on beginning to strain painfully against his jeans; he wished he could blame it on the story, fragments of which only reached him from far away, but he knew it had pretty little to do with it by now. On their own accord his fingers trailed over the smooth plains of skin, touching and teasing every square inch they could reach.

  


Tom let his head drop forward, nestling it in the dark of Bill’s long hair. He took a breath, inhaling his brother’s scent deeply, a strange sensation of weightlessness accompanying the air rushing into his lungs. Bill smelled warm and soapy, like sleep and home, so awfully familiar it almost hurt.

_   
_

_ His fingers dug into my flesh. His nails were sharp and hurt. He aroused me so much with his vigorous… _

Bill squirmed and rubbed against him so insistently, the plug in Tom’s ear was slowly pulling loose. The narrator’s voice faded to an indistinct whisper, before it was replaced by Bill’s shallow breathing. 

Bill’s hand brushed past his arm, dropping down between his legs. A soft moan drifted up into Tom’s ear, Bill shivering against him as he started to rub himself through the rough denim of his pants; then again, as Tom’s lips connected with the side of his neck, trailing up a wet path to his ear, before he darted his tongue inside, the tip worming into the hollow of the shell.

  


Tom felt his arousal spike at the low groan that fought its way out of his brother, the movement of the arm picking up in pace before it stilled suddenly.

Bill’s hand gripped his wrist again, dragging the hand down to his crotch, closing their joined hands over the bulge in his pants, pressing their heels against it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bill moaned through a breathless whisper, trying obviously very hard to keep quiet. Tom pulled his hand back as if had been burned, shocked to the core that not only did it feel strangely right but that he really wanted this as well. Before he could pull back further, Bill grabbed his hand again, holding it in place.

  


“Please, Tom…” Tom could feel Bill’s other hand working at the button’s of his jeans, could hear the zipper being pulled down. He trembled against his brother; whether it was out of fear or excitement he could not really tell at this point.

“Come on…please,” Bill tugged lightly on his hand, clearly not as forceful as before, his fingertips dancing over Tom’s knuckles. Tom let his hand be shoved past the elastic of the boxers, somehow thankful that Bill’s fingers laced with his own and led the stroke.

  


Tom propped his head on his brother’s shoulder, blinking into the darkness ahead, watching the sheets move and rustle with the movement of their hands, hearing Bill’s breathing getting deeper and more ragged with every moment. Bill’s eyes were closed, a thin film of sweat forming at his hairline, the plug still in his ear and Tom found himself wondering about the story and what the narrator might murmur into Bill’s ear right now.

  


He felt Bill’s grip on his hand slackening, the tips of his fingers brushing gently over the back of Tom’s hand, as he continued to stroke him. Carefully Tom pulled back the foreskin, his thumb rubbing against the slick little slit, before he smeared the wetness down, swirling the pad of his thumb against the underside, till he heard Bill hiss through his teeth, feeling a shudder running through the entire body pressed impossibly close against him.

  


Suddenly Bill rolled on his back, laying jammed so closely against him now Tom could feel his twin’s panting breaths washing against his face as he lay next to him; Bill stared up at him, his eyes dark and glazed over, his mouth open around whispy-soft moans. Tom did not look away, instead gazed down into his twin’s face, with a look of detached curiosity as Bill slowly came apart in front of him.

  


It was a challenge somehow and Tom would not be defeated by breaking the eye contact first. Finally Bill’s eyes fluttered close, a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth before he bit his bottom lip so hard Tom could see the colour drain from it even in the dark; the next moment Tom felt warm thick fluid in his hand, delicious little tremors running through the warm body next to him, it seemed as if Bill was vibrating under his touch. 

  


He continued to stroke until Bill slapped his hand away and rolled on his side again, now facing Tom. Drowsy, as if in a dream Bill’s head tipped back, closing what little distance there was left between them. Warm, chapped lips rubbed against Tom’s, Bill’s tongue licking at the corner of his mouth before it slipped in, lazily winding around his own. Tom swallowed hard, tasting Bill’s strong, strawberry-flavoured chewing gum everywhere. Bill sucked on his tongue, pulling it into his mouth, and Tom’s toes curled almost painfully. He wanted nothing more than to push Bill away, instead he found himself crushing his brother against himself, his arm winding itself around Bill’s neck and into his hair, pulling Bill so impossibly close, he had trouble deciding where Bill ended and he began.

  


With somnambulist confidence Bill’s hand made quick work of the buttons of Tom’s pants, the hand slipping into his boxers moments later, wrapping around the hard flesh. Tom moaned right into his twin’s mouth, already feeling that delicious burning in the pit of his stomach. After two, three painfully gentle strokes Tom was done, gasping as he felt Bill’s hand, slick with his come now, slide up and down one last time. 

  


He pulled away, flushed and panting. The bus rattled over a bump in the road, from somewhere in the back, he could hear Georg and Gustav talk in agitated voices over the blaring of the TV set. Somewhere between them, one of the earphones still spilled the continuous whispering of the audio book. 

  


Reality had just punched him in the gut and Tom felt a nauseous wave of embarrassment wash over him. The sticky warmth in his boxers and on his right hand doing nothing whatsoever to make him feel any better about himself or what they had just done. Tom cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the awful taste unfurling in his mouth, as he stole a sideways glance at his brother.

  


Bill lay sprawled across the mattress, looking up at him somewhat sleepily. He could see Bill’s hand moving under the blanket, rubbing over his belly.

“So?” Tom croaked, the word coming out as half a sound, half a cough.

“So what?” One of Bill’s eyebrow’s went up and he gave him a nonchalant, completely disinterested look.

  


Tom was at a loss for words. Should he apologize? It felt like he should, then again, it had been Bill who had started all of this. Before he could come up with any kind of adequate repartee, Bill reached for his hand, tugging him forward, closer again.

“Talk about it when we’re at the hotel? I’m actually kind of tired now.” Bill yawned softly, giving Tom a slightly impatient look that begged no contradiction. Still firmly gripping Tom’s hand, his twin rolled on his side again, more or less forcing Tom to spoon up behind him once more. 

  


Sighing in defeat, Tom let his head flop down on the pillow again. He did feel sleepy too, even if the shock of realization had totally ruined the afterglow. He stretched out on the mattress, feeling Bill’s toes curling between his own, the noises from outside dropping down to a whisper again.

  
_Passages in italics are actual excerpts from Anais Nin's Delta of Venus (1977) - if you haven't read anything by her so far you should definietly check it out._

__

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [ParabooBizarre @ Livejournal.com](http://paraboobizarre.livejournal.com/)


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